Return Of The Dark Apostle First Draft
by t.gass
Summary: Based on the events of several Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, which aids the character development and story, the book follows the events surronding a group of adventurers - Arminas, Amras, Snorri, Dilandau, Celsus and Otto - and the shadow they uncover.


Nathalis strode quickly down the bright and airy corridor, the early morning sun spilling in across the silver-framed windows through expensive-looking frosted glass, the open windows also allowing in the sounds of the calm and serene North Quarter - birds singing harmoniously, the occasional clip-clop of horses hooves plodding past rhythmically, a far-off splashing of a small waterfall hitting the rock-pool below. Nathalis ignored the noises, putting them to the back of his mind like an ambient background, and continued pacing down the hall towards the Counts office. He had decided against dressing for battle at this moment, leaving his weapons and armour behind in his simple room - there would be time to ready for combat later, when the Count made his exact orders clear. Nathalis had a good idea what they would be already. He had already been here three times previous in the last few weeks.

Nathalis opened the double wooden doors leading into the Count's office, closing them behind him as he walked across the plush carpet to the massive darkwood desk in the centre of the room. Expensive paintings and other various artworks gifted to the Count decorated the painted-red walls. Two massive bay windows the height of the wall sat to the left, allowing the bright morning sunlight to wash over the burgundy carpet, making the odd fibre here and there glisten like glass. Nathalis stood in front of the desk, waiting.

The Count Talmanes was sat in a high-backed deep red leather chair, sipping coffee from a white porcelain cup behind a newspaper with tiny type that Nathalis could barely make out even with his elfin vision. The paper rustled, and the Count put it down in front of him.

Talmanes wasn't a young man, but he wasn't that old, either. He sported a pair of ivory-rimmed glasses, a small black-going-grey goatee, and a pair of blue eyes that sparkled as if they should belong to someone a lot younger. Talmanes removed his glasses, placing them in a drawer to the side, smoothed his blackish hair and leaned forward, directing those sparkling eyes to Nathalis' cold grey ones.

"I trust the competitors have been delivered safely, Nathalis?" he asked, voice quite serious.

"Yes Count. The coach left a few hours ago, they should at least be at the complex by now." Nathalis replied, his voice flat and monotone, a surprising trait for an elf. The count smiled slightly.

"Excellent, excellent." He paused, looking to his side and out of the white-framed windows over to the glistening sea. "You know what to do now."

Nathalis nodded curtly, turning on his booted heel and striding out of the office. The Count Vincent Talmanes leaned back in his chair, one finger twirling some loose hairs on his beard absent-mindedly. He did hope this group would perform to his expectations - good help was hard to come by all of a sudden, he'd noticed. He stood up from his desk, quilted house-coat shifting out from under him, and walked out of one of the side-doors to get dressed.

A small group of men (well, men in the sense of male, for they were not all human) stood outside of an imposing set of huge wooden doors barred with iron, held in place by rusting rivets, several of which had fallen out of their holdings. An overhanging series of balconies and ledges draped a thick shadow over the building. The warmth of the morning sun beating down on their backs that made it seem all the more intimidating.

The group consisted of four humanoid figures. One of them was just over five feet tall, dressed in simple earthy browns and greens. A large longbow was slung over his back and a polished steel sword hung from his thick, worn belt. His delicate, pale features were topped by a mess of blonde hair that hung limply around his face and neck. Next to him stood a man with similar features, but who was slightly taller and better built, sporting a dullish shirt of chainmail and a bright red tabard emblazoned with some unknown sigils. In one hand he held a longsword, and in the other a rounded steel shield. His ears were slightly pointed. The blonde figure kept looking about, his eyes darting from one minor detail to the next.

Standing a little away, but still part of the group, were another two figures who shared none of the similarities the other two did. One was a tall - maybe about five-eleven - young man wearing a simple suit of studded leather armour, with the bulk to fill it. Although his features and half-grown facial hair gave his younger age away, he still possessed enough strength to wield the huge sword he gripped in one gloved hand. A blackish-green tunic covered his arms and legs, and a backpack was slung over his shoulder, held tightly in place by a thick leather strap. A look of utter blankness was on his face.

The last figure was shorter than all the others, but he had proportionate bulk, short arms thick with muscle. Superior-quality scale mail adorned his chest, and plain leather trousers covered his legs ending in thick-soled boots. He carried a steel shield almost as big as himself, as well as a sharp-headed axe made of pure black metal. A thick beard and moustache covered the lower half of his face, and bushy eyebrows sat atop his dark brown eyes. His face was lined and slightly scarred, and he seemed to have a perpetual frown.

Typical dwarf.

The dwarf was the first to speak, walking forwards with heavy footsteps towards the doors. He placed a meaty hand on the wood, pushing at it. Small beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and arm, and he let his hand fall away after a minute or two. He muttered something unpleasant-sounding and turned, still scowling. His dark gaze met the boy standing a few metres away.

"Boy, come and help me with this" he said, voice deep and thick with an accent uncommon in the city. The young man strode over, face still an epitome of unfeeling, and placed spread arms against the door. The dwarf pushed with him, and the heavy doors swung open on protesting hinges with a lingering creaking noise.

The room inside was poorly lit, a single guttering torch in a rusted bracket on the north wall providing the only illumination. The younger man assumed the place hadn't been opened very often, whereas the dwarf just thought it was shoddy manling construction. As usual. The younger man moved into the room, rifling through the drawers of a rotting desk, and the dwarf stood in the middle of the flagstone floor between the two doors, one to the north, one to the east. Behind them the rest of the group moved in, the blonde elf unhooking his bow from his back and holding it in the direction of the east door. His companion stood near the dwarf, holding his shield and sword ready.

It was at that moment that the doors began to move. Heads snapped round, and the elf made a break for the doorway to wedge it open, but it shut too fast for any of them to do anything. The torch spluttered in the wake of the sudden gust of air, but it didn't go out. The boy looked round dispassionately, holding his sword up to the northern door. The elf stayed near the closed doors, looking round, sweeping his bow across the room. The man in the chainmail moved to the north door, placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to his new companions.

"Let's begin" he said, and moved through the door.

The hobgoblin's corpse fell to the floor where it's comrades were, the shaft of a steel-tipped arrow protruding from it's right eye socket. The weight of it's body crashing over the chest at it's feet made it topple, spilling it's contents over the flagstone floor. Amras slung his bow and jumped down from the high bunk he'd been using a vantage point, joining the others at the foot of the room they'd found. It had evidently been a barracks or somesuch, and the hobgoblins that seemed to be inhabiting the building now had been using it for just that. The boy, who was called Dilandau, apparently, was sliding the corpse of one of the hobgoblins off of his greatsword as Amras approached. Arminas - the half-elf - and Snorri was rifling through one of the footlockers that hadn't been chained and locked up. Amras stood with his back to them, keeping his eyes fixed on the door they'd entered by. It stood ajar, and he'd not heard anything when they'd come in, but he knew that it was as important to be cautious here as it was in the forests he was used to.

Arminas speaking up behind him snapped him out of his daydream.

"Nothing important or even valuable" he said, making the point but not really seeming to care. His sword was tainted with the hobgoblins blood, and one of the three corpses had a fitting gash across his leg that seemed to have produced the dirty smear. Dilandau for his part, didn't say anything. It seemed to all of them to be a recurring theme with the boy - when they'd stumbled into the room after dispatching the hobgoblin outside, he hadn't said anything, not even looked phased. He'd just walked up to the back of the room and started attacking. On one level it was admirable, on another a little disturbing.

"Where do we go now?" Amras said, looking at Arminas as he did so. Arminas just shrugged.

"There's more rooms, idiot. Maybe it'd be a good idea to check them. Our little benefactor didn't tell us how to get out of here, and we're not going to find out by standing around" Snorri said, his voice carrying the trademark barely-suppressed anger everyone expected of a dwarf. Amras ignored him, moving out into the corridor, drawing his bow down the corridor and waiting for the others. Damned dwarves, he thought to himself.

The others moved round the doorframe, Dilandau starting off down the corridor without a word. Snorri followed him (or was he just going in the same direction? Amras thought that far more likely), heavy boots making echoes sound in the cold stone aisle. Arminas tapped Amras on the shoulder, and the elf followed him.

They came to some sort of crossroads in the corridors, one door off to the north and one to the east, set in thick archways chiselled from high-quality stone. The corridor going west broke into a corner at the end, and the faint glow of a torch could be seen on the inner wall, dancing on the heavy grey-brown stone. Amras cocked his head to one side, listening - he heard nothing. So much for elfin senses, he thought, this place was deader than those hobgoblins. He looked to Arminas, who was also staring down the corridor, straining to hear or see something.

"Nothing." Dilandau said, the grip on his sword relaxed a bit. Snorri looked up at him, motioning towards the end of the corridor.

"Just because you can't hear anything doesn't mean there's nothing there, fool" he said, annoyed. Dilandau shrugged, going towards the east door. Snorri looked at Arminas questioningly. Ever since he'd hurried them into the main corridors in the first place, everyone seems to have assumed he was in charge.

"I'm going to check the north door. You and him stay here. Just in case."

Or maybe not. Snorri stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, Dilandau having already done the same. The sound of the brass catches snapping shut echoed for a second, then the corridor was silent again, just the faintest sound of a guttering torch and the two elves breathing.

Dilandau closed the door behind him, stepping into the room as quietly as he could. It was well-lit, he noticed, torches along either side of the room at twenty foot intervals, basking the trestle tables and cabinets at the far end of the room in a warm light. As he drew his vision across the room, Dilandau noticed something he should have as soon as he entered the room.

Two goblins were standing in the middle of the room, one of them clutching something Dilandau couldn't make out rather possessively, clawing at the other goblin who was trying to snatch it from him. Dilandau couldn't make out what they were saying - he was a learned person (though how he had come to be, he wasn't entirely sure, he just knew he was), but his sphere of studies hadn't included the feral languages. It was obvious the one without whatever object it was extremely annoyed, however, and the one with it seemed just as angry. The two goblins spat and clawed at one another, their insane, high-pitched language filling Dilandau's head like the scrape of steel on steel - which he was used to, this was just annoying. He readied his sword and walked towards the pair.

The one farthest away, who was holding the object, looked over it's opponents shoulder and saw him approaching. Dilandau was big for his age, and to this tiny creature he must have looked like a giant. It screamed something in it's guttural language and bolted, dropping a small gem from it's scrawny fingers that clacked on the flagstones. The other thing laughed, but it's mirth was cut short when it turned round. Snarling, it drew a battered mace and charged Dilandau.

Dilandau swung his sword down across the goblin's shoulder as it ran for him without a word. The tip of the blade opened an ugly gash across it's upper chest, and it faltered in it's charge, one hand clutching at the open wound. Dilandau seized the initiative and booted it square in the gut, causing it to double over in pain. A short stab later and the goblin was just a corpse on the floor. Dilandau flicked it off his sword with ease and approached the one now cowering in the corner, utterly terrified of the black giant before it. The thing raised it's scrawny arms out to him, fingers splayed, pleading in it's language for mercy. Dilandau shrugged and took it's head off with one slash of the blade, foul blood splattering onto the wall behind. He retrieved the gem it had dropped on the floor and slid it into a small pouch on his belt. A short search through the drawers and cabinets revealed nothing else of interest. He left, leaving two more corpses in a place already full of death.

Amras watched Dilandau and Snorri go, relaxing his grip on the bow, letting it lower towards the ground. Arminas was likewise relaxing, his sword hanging loose by his side and the grip of his shield loosened. His breathing was steady and calmed, mutely echoing in the silent corridor.

_Think how easy it would be, _a small, despicable voice in Amras' mind told him. _Just grab him and cut his throat, dangers over. You'll end the risk here and now – and you can claim it was one of the monsters, they'll never know._

Amras shook his head, dispelling the wicked thoughts. He'd followed Arminas gladly from the northern continent once he'd tracked the young prince leaving Miridian, having already done his research into who he was – and more importantly, what his heritage was. The revelation had disturbed Amras, but once he thought about it (which he had, and at great length over many sleepless nights), it was pretty simple. He should have guessed it sooner. A hand touched his shoulder, and he snapped round to face Arminas' eyes laced with concern.

"What's wrong? You seem distracted" he said, sincerity clear on his words. Amras pushed his thoughts back down again, making them keep for another day. The concern Arminas spared him made him feel all the worse for thinking the way he sometimes did.

"It's nothing. Just…thinking. About home" he replied sadly, at least partly right. He feared for them all, but he just couldn't see that evil glare in Arminas' eyes. Like…

_Like the one that's been haunting you every night for the past ten years? Remember some cats have one red eye and one blue eye._

Back in the real world outside his memories, Arminas was staring at him intently, his head cocked somewhat to the side. Amras pushed down on the memories harder, sealing them away deep inside his mind for the time being. Time would tell, as it had a horrible habit of doing. Maybe this time it wouldn't repeat as well. He removed Arminas' hand from his shoulder, reiterating that he was fine.

Amras spun on his heel as the door to his right opened, bringing his bow up in an instant. Snorri walked out of the doorway, scowling at the arrow pointed at his chest.

"Put that thing down, you might hurt somebody" he jeered. Amras lowered the weapon, turning back to the corridor they had yet to explore. Arminas walked over to Snorri.

"Find anything, Snorri?" he asked. Snorri put a big hand into a pouch and brought out a slip of paper, handing it to Arminas. The half-elf studied it for a few seconds, then handed it back.

"And that says what?" he asked, obviously not a student of dwarven culture. Snorri walked into the middle of the group, swinging his axe around in a circle, his eyes looking down the unexplored corridor, as if he was expecting something.

"'The emerald one holds the key, and you must earn it to pass. He only goes to the deeps, you will find him there' is what it says, Arminas. What it means, I don't know. I never could solve a puzzle." He grunted, settling the head of his axe onto the worn stone, leaning on it's haft. Dilandau stepped forward from the east corridor he'd been in, stepping a little ahead of Amras. His sword was still covered in goblin blood, and small rivulets of it kept falling off of the sword and settling on the floor.

"If we're going to find out, it's probably down there" he said, his back to the rest of the group, eyes fixed on the wall where the light from the torch danced. The sound of steel-on-steel echoed in the tight crossway as Arminas drew his sword again, stepping to stand beside Dilandau.

"I think you're right" he said, also keeping his eyes fixed on the fluctuating light up ahead. "But we'd best be careful." Dilandau snorted, and began walking down the corridor.

"Whatever" he said disdainfully to Arminas, who was going to say something back but thought better of it. He motioned for Amras to move ahead of him and keep a lookout for anything, and the elf moved stealthily ahead, his bow down at waist height, string held taut to loose off an arrow at any new threat. Snorri moved on after them as well, muttering something derogatory about damned manlings under his breath, taking a small (small by dwarven standards, anyway) slug of ale from a silver hip flask he'd almost forgot about.

Jarren rolled over on the tattered couch, snorting. A thin trail of yellowish saliva dribbled from the corner of his wide mouth and pooled on the ruined fabric, which had once been a vibrant blood red but was now faded and torn apart in several places. The whole room had a feeling of dereliction and abandonment about it - it had once been the watch captain's room for the prison, but that had been many years ago, and it was just an echo now.

Jarren rolled over again, muttered something sleepily, and pulled himself upright. He had a large, bulky figure, clad in loose-fitting leather armour that was all out of shape from his slumber. He stood up to his full height, some six and a half feet, and adjusted the thick armour. He noticed the fur showing through had become tangled and matted within the joints, and several small wounds over his large bulk had opened up and were weeping thin streams of blood and other fluids. Jarren slapped at one of them with a meaty paw, and it stopped.

Across the room, Jarrens trophies stared at him from dead eye sockets. Three human males, all crucified against the wall, rusty and heavy iron spikes driven through bound hands, legs and guts. Armour hung from their spindly forms like bad-fitting clothes, and there was a small pile of their weapons at the base of the wall. The sight of his trophy rack, and the memories of winning them, brought a smile to Jarrens goblinoid face. Nothing like a set of grisly trophies to keep the grunts in line. He'd put one in the cells for later too, he'd join his companions before long and...

Jarren heard something outside the room, his acute sense of hearing honed over the years picking up the sound of several booted feet striding down the flagstone corridor. They were heavy, probably laden down with something - Jarren hoped it was someone carrying a wounded comrade. There was nothing quite as despicable or enjoyable as killing an unarmed man.

The footsteps were growing closer, drawing near the door and becoming slower and more measured. Jarren clenched one hand round the hilt of his longsword, sidestepping closer to the door. They'd open it and step in alongside him, not noticing him, and then he'd leap out and rip their beating hearts out. He chuckled, a deep noise in the depths of his throat.

The footsteps outside stopped. The door hadn't moved yet. Jarren was getting impatient.

Sighing, he took his sword in both hands and stood in front of the door, leant forward on one thick leg and charged.

Arminas was picking something off of the ground when the door next to him exploded in a shower of wooden splinters and the squeal of protesting hinges. The heavy door smashed into his flank, forcing him off his feet. His hearing overloaded with the sound of an animal, feral roar spilling across the corridor, and his sight faltered a few seconds afterwards as he saw a heavy booted foot stomping across his field of vision. The darkness came over him, and he left consciousness.

Amras let fly one of his arrows, sending it spinning through the air towards the beast lumbering over Arminas. The projectile struck off the thing's armour, careening off the flagstone wall to the left. Amras fumbled for another arrow from his quiver quickly, rapidly pulling it back against the bowstring and sending it flying towards the hobgoblin warrior. It was stomping down the corridor towards them in massive strides, moving over several flagstones at once. Arminas' crumpled form lay several feet back, beneath the smashed wooden door. Amras couldn't see blood, but he still feared the worst. The arrow struck against it's chest, going several inches into it's armour, but the beast didn't stop. Amras heard a grunt from behind him and the sound of steel grating on steel.

"This one's mine" he heard Snorri say, and as the dwarf moved forwards Amras dropped his bow with a dull clatter, drawing his own longsword from his belt.

"Not if I get there first" he muttered to himself, guilt filling him up as he wished that his earlier thoughts would not be given form.

Jarren sprinted along the corridor, ignoring the knocked out half-elf beneath the door for now. He could take his time with him later on, down in the cells. There were three more of them down the hall, a dwarf, a human and a full-blooded elf. Jarren liked full-blooded elves, especially hanging from a wall with their guts hanging out. He charged down the corridor, arrows whizzing past him, intent on taking more trophies. A few struck his armour, one of them piercing his chest covering and sinking into the thick muscle beneath. Jarren didn't falter in his stride, charging on towards his would-be attackers with even greater relish. He was unstoppable, didn't they know that?

The dwarf was ahead of the group now, standing with a big shield and a suitably large axe, his short legs spread and balanced. Jarren lunged at him with his longsword, aiming for his short muscly neck, but the small warrior brought the shield up to block him, taking the axe back for a counter-attack. Jarren recovered quickly, taking a step back as the dwarf drove his arm forward in a horizontal slash. An elf blade shot out from Jarren's right at the same time, narrowly missing his chest as well as the dwarve's axe blade.

Jarren stepped back, swinging his sword in weaving patterns in front of him. He hadn't had this much of a challenge in many years, so the satisfaction he'd get when he showed these trespassers their intestines would be a memory to be savoured. He noticed the boy behind them was looking around the corridor rather than charging in, but he disregarded it as unimportant - he was here to fight. The pair in front of him were on the attack, and Jarren's sword clashed on elf and dwarf steel in a series of parries, filling the corridor with the high-tone screech of scraping metal.

The dwarf cursed, and Jarren laughed. Anger filled his eyes, and he dove towards his tormentor once more.

Dilandau, at the back of the group, was looking round the corridor for another way out when the hobgoblin showed up. He saw Arminas fall, Amras panic and Snorri charge into him. He didn't bother joining in, things would just get cramped down there and that wouldn't help him or the others. Not that he cared about the latter.

There was a side corridor, he noticed, and there seemed to be a set of stairs at the end of it. Where they led he was unsure, but Dilandau was willing to go anywhere to stop listening to Amras and Snorri cursing and bellowing their little taunts at the hobgoblin. It was pathetic, like tough-talking a corpse. Mindless symbolism. He ducked into the side-hall, hearing Snorri calling him a new and inventive name as he walked over the less-worn flagstones.

Something moved beneath his boot. Dilandau spun on his heel, facing the way he'd just come to see a heavy iron portcullis slamming down with a shower of dust. It was rusted with age, and Dilandau could see from the thickness of it, let alone the size, that he'd never be able to lift it.

"Bah. Screw 'em" he said aloud, drawing his sword from the scabbard on his back. He looked down the staircase, noticing the thicker layer of dust on the steps as well as the mass of spider-webs surrounding the single spluttering torch. He was disappointed. If there were no tracks, there wouldn't be many enemies down there.

"Not like I've got anything else to do" he said, again to himself, and descended the stairway.

Amras was so busy concentrating on fighting the hobgoblin he didn't notice Dilandau ducking into the hall until it was too late, accompanied by the sound of the heavy grate slamming after him. He made a hard swipe at it's shoulder with his sword, ducking under the counter-swipe that followed the inevitable parry, then jumped back while Snorri distracted the monster. He turned his head, seeing the portcullis wedged tight against the stoneworked archway and knew they couldn't hope to lift it back up.

"Damn that boy!" he shouted above another clash of steel as Snorri fended off a vicious attack for his shield arm. His bearded face was bright red, droplets of sweat making his hair hang limply around his face and making his skin sheen in the torchlight. Amras tried to step back into the swirling melee, but he couldn't find an opening, sword and axe dashing across the air against each other in neverending attack and counter-attack. Amras kept himself poised to dive in, switching feet rapidly and flexing his sword arm repeatedly.

"This one's a tough bastard" Snorri spat, his shield gaining another dent on it's steel surface. "Lets see if he has strength of mind as well."

His axe dropped to the floor, and before the monster could make another attack Snorri had his shield up and was driving it forward, smashing it into the beast's chest and driving it back. As it stumbled, Snorri spoke a series of words that made Amras shiver. The air became colder, and the torches seemed to become dimmer for a second. Amras shook his head, reasserting his vision, and he saw a sickly blue-black flame surrounding Snorri's hand. His eyes were closed and his teeth grinded against one another in a determined grimace, as if he could barely contain what he held. The torches winked out, and in the darkness Amras saw Snorri's face lit up by the ethereal fire in his palm. For a second the dwarfs eyes flared like blazing coals, red pinpricks of fire in a deathly face. The hobgoblin stumbled back in fear, it's face struggling to articulate something it evidently wasn't used to. Snorri drove his hand forward, punching into the monsters guts with fingers wreathed in the ghostly flame. The beast lurched, gripping it's stomach, and faltered as trails of dark smoke twined from Snorri's hand round it's body. Turning to Amras, Snorri yelled over the deafening screaming noise that had enveloped the corridor.

"Don't just bloody stand there! Finish him!" he bellowed, his voice a deep undertone to the unearhly screeching. Amras nodded, leaping forward on one lithe leg, and propelling his left foot off the hard stone wall. He sailed through the air quickly returning to normal, brought his right knee up and smashed his foot into the hobgoblin's face.

One minute he was ready to deliver the final attack, the next that dwarf tricked him with a clever feint and his ribs were being broken by the force of his shield. Before Jarren got a chance to recover and punish the little sneak, bolts of blinding agony were lancing over his body and right into his brain, the sounds of the fight replaced by an impossibly high-pitched screeching sound and his eyesight filling with blood. His body rebelled against him and he struggled for his weapon, bent double and gagging. Grasping the battered hilt of his sword, his head pounding, Jarren lifted his head just in time to see the elf come flying through the air towards him though a haze of red.

Amras' foot hit his nose, the bone shattered, skewered his brain and Jarren fell.

Amras lifted his foot from the hobgoblin's broken face, letting the corpse fall heavily to the stone floor with a thump. He took several deep breaths, calming himself, the gloom of the corridor taking over from the clamour of battle. He faced Snorri, who had retrieved his axe and slung it in his belt. His face was still bright red, his hair limp with sweat, and he kept taking long drinks from a large hip-flask at his waist. Amras sheathed his sword, standing next to the dwarf.

"How did you do that?" he asked, the words sounding pointless in the aftermath, but needing asked anyway. Snorri grunted.

"Never told you everything. I'm a cleric as well as a warrior. Haven't you ever seen divine power before?" Snorri said it quite pointedly, as if nothing was special about what had just happened.

"Not really, no. Not like that" Amras replied, shrugging. "Which of the pantheon do you follow, then?"

Snorri scowled at those last words, sparing Amras a glance full of hatred and bitterness.

"I said I was a cleric, elf. Not an idiot."

Dilandau swung the rusting cell door open, peering into the thick gloom with strained eyes. The lights around the room had gone out for a few moments not long past, and he'd considered going to see what was happening upstairs. He'd thought better of it after the high-pitched screech that had overpowered his brain started – lack of fear or not, he still preferred to be alive.

_Especially after last time…_

A small, hauntingly familiar voice chimed in Dilandau's head, accompioned by a faded vision of a horned helmet and dark, flowing robes bathed in malefic light. Dilandau grasped at his forehead, brain pounding inside his skull, but the apparition disappeared as soon as it had come, leaving only an echo of a dream. Dilandau stood silently for a few moments after it went, staring at the ground like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. He'd heard people talk about resonance from past lives before - mostly preachy clerics who he'd ignored or killed – but he decided that that introspection could be saved for another day.

"Like in ten years, maybe" he chuckled to himself, beginning to rift through the pile of scraps and bones on the cell floor. He was a fighter (and a damn good one, he reminded himself), not a thinker. He could do anything with a blade that he could with words. History never lied.

Happening across a small, solid object in the rags, Dilandau brought his hand out from the stinking pile and examined his find. It was a small gem, extremely well cut and shining a soft, lusty red in the weak light. Dilandau shoved it into one of his belt-pouches, thinking how good this day was actually turning out to be. He'd got a chance to fight some monsters, which he'd kind of missed since coming to the city – monsters were usually a better challenge than other people, in his experience, and he'd found a few items of some worth. He wasn't really a man who was about physical gain, but having spare coin was always a benefit. And to top it all off, he'd found a convenient way away from his erstwhile comrades – however accidental that had been.

Something moved in the corner. Dilandau was up on his feet with his sword drawn in front of him within seconds, his eyes peering into the darkness. The sound came again, something old and not well maintained. A dull snap followed by the sound of rusted steel grating on stone resonated through the room, and Dilandau paced back towards the door, covering his escape if he needed more room to fight the threat properly. It was at that moment it came out of the shadows.

Loping forward on decayed, ancient legs was a vision of death given solid form. A grisly grin met Dilandau's eyes from a pock-marked skull riddled with the marks of old wounds ages old. In grimy skeletal hands it clutched an archaic sword, rusted and slightly bent out of shape clearly showing the age of years. It's filthy maw lolled open as it's blank, dead stare found the intruder half-smiling at it arrogantly.

'Finally, something worth the time of day' Dilandau said to himself. He took two quick steps forward, his sword coming up round the back of his shoulders then swinging quickly across the skeletons midriff. Well, what was left of it hanging from the decaying bones, anyway. The monster stumbled to one side, a knee joint popping out of place as it gave way under the weight and strain. The skeletons right shin clattered to the floor with no surrounding flesh to keep it in place, and the body followed, pitching over onto the floor with a dull clatter. Dilandau took no pause from his attack, smashing the blade down into the back of the undead monster, shattering several of it's ribs and severing the spinal column. He followed up with a series of brutal blows to the rapidly diminishing spine, sending bone across the stone floor in hundreds of small fragments. A puff of dark smoke almost invisible against the palpable gloom of the cell was released from the twice-corpse, breaking it's bond with the dark magics that sustained it.

Dilandau knelt, lifting the dented skull in one hand and staring into it's dead eyesockets, seeming ready to question the corpse as to who or what had animated it again. Instead he stood, still staring intently at the head, then suddenly and violently threw it against the wall. It smashed into a million pieces, small shards of bone skittering across the floor while Dilandaus footsteps echoed into the small room as he stepped out, the rusted door clanging shut behind him.

Light crept back in across Arminas' vision, his head pounding and his body covered in a thick blanket of aches interwoven with each other. He felt cold, hard stone underneath him, the lack of heat penetrating his armour and sending a chill through his body. He tried to sit up and he felt something gripping his arm and dragging him up. His back settled against the wall behind him as more vision and memories returned.

He'd been going to pick up something, and the door had just…exploded. Then a roar, and the sound of feet. It must have knocked him out. Although Arminas wasn't an entirely religious person, he offered some thanks to Corellan for letting him live. If Amras and Snorri hadn't been there…well, there would be time to think about that later. For now, he had to get moving again. He opened his mouth to speak, the words coming out stuttered and weak.

'Pouch…get the…get the potion. It'll help.' He felt hands ruffling through his belt, taking out the small vial of blessed liquid he'd been carrying with him. A thin, slender hand lifted it up to his lips and Arminas took a sip of it, feeling energy return to his limbs and his heartbeat quickening slightly. He took the potion in his own hand, stronger now, and finished it. Blinking, his vision reasserted itself, swirling colours and darkened lights returning to full clarity. Amras was kneeling beside him, and Snorri was standing off to the corner looking down a short corridor that ended in a large iron door. Dilandau was nowhere to be seen.

Arminas rubbed his head, pushing locks of hair back over his ears, the buzzing noise that had settled over his mind clearing. He turned his head towards Amras, who was packing up a roll of leather with various bandages and small metal tools strapped into it. Arminas looked at his arm and noticed the bandage across his forearm, a faded bloodstain emanating from it's centre, corrupting the white fabric. The other elf half-smiled as Arminas returned from consciousness, finishing packing away the healers kit and putting it into his pack.

"Welcome back. Your injuries weren't too serious, thankfully" he said, his eyes staring into Arminas' face, as if checking him for any further signs of damage. "You got knocked out by the hobgoblin in that room…" Amras hand waved behind him to a smashed doorway leading into a grisly and wrecked room – Arminas could see the bodies crucified on the wall, and he quickly averted his gaze. "He'd dead now. We've both got Snorri to thank for that" he continued, and Arminas nodded, thinking how they might have fared without the dwarf. Amras was a competent fighter at least, but he was suited to dense woodlands and ranged combat – and from the damage done to that door, Arminas assumed the hobgoblin had been of sizeable bulk.

"Where's Dilandau?" Arminas asked. Amras frowned, nudging his head down the corridor from where they'd came.

"He ducked out. A portcullis sealed him off. Good riddance, I say." Arminas couldn't help but agree, the boy was distinctly unreliable. A good swordsman, but hardly one to trust.

Snorri appeared from the side corridor, his face still swathed in an eternal frown. His axe was smeared with blood and his shield had gained a few more dents, and he looked a little tired, as if something physically draining had happened. He looked first at Amras, then at Arminas.

"The stonework in here isn't as good at hiding things as our Count Talmanes would like to think, I bet. I've found a secret passage, a little shaft leading to a lower level" he said, keeping his eyes flicking between the two elves as he spoke. He was talking a bit more…politely, perhaps, to the elves, for which Arminas was grateful. Places like this required people to fight as one. He struggled to stand, dusting off his tabard. His legs still felt sort of weak, but he'd be alright.

"What about that door? Locked?" he asked Snorri.

"Aye. Tricky little lock as well, I've never seen anything like it. We'll need the key"

"The emerald one?" Arminas said, the scrap of a puzzle Snorri had recovered returning to the forefront of his thoughts.

"And the deeps. Must mean that passage Snorri found" Amras piped in, the simplicity of the riddle becoming obvious to them. Snorri nodded, turning to walk down the offshoot.

"It's down here" he said, leading them to the puzzle solution – to the solution of this entire mishap, perhaps.

Dilandau finished searching the third cell, annoyed at having found nothing else. It wasn't that he was after treasure or anything, but he hated having nothing to do. Even that skeleton he'd found in the first cell hadn't kept him occupied for very long, and he was getting bored. He was starting to wish he'd stayed upstairs.

Stepping back into the main hall with the spluttering torches, Dilandau looked around for anything he might have missed. A quick scan of the walls and floor revealed nothing. He was effectively trapped, unless there was some way out in the last cell he hadn't checked yet. He cursed loudly, though it brought him no comfort. Sighing, he paced over to the last door. It was like all the others – old, battered and covered in rust and signs of wear and tear. The lock was broken, smashed apart with some weapon. Which kind, he couldn't tell, but it didn't matter. The door opened with ease, swinging open with a high-pitched squeal that resonated about the small room. It was identical to the other three – plain walls and floor, some items scattered about, mostly useless rubbish. Dilandau sighed, stepping inside anyway, knowing he'd best check it if he wanted to find a way out.

Something coughed, and Dilandau spun on his heel, sword raised in the direction of the noise. Peering, he saw the form of a man, sitting on the ground swathed in dull robes that helped him become even more shrouded by the darkness. Dilandau half-smiled, because whether he was friend or foe he'd get some amusement from the man. He lowered his sword slightly, taking two small steps forward and standing as straight as he could. First impressions were everything, so they said.

"I am Dilandau, former knight" he said in a clear, strong voice. That much was at least true, though knight of _what_ he didn't specify. He wanted to appear strong to this stranger, either to intimidate or impress them. The man remained silent, his cowl staying down over his face. Dilandau could see the bottom of his chin, marked with rough stubble and a small scar, but that was all. He waited. Nothing. As he was about to repeat himself, the man decided to speak.

"Tell me, Dilandau, what date is it?" he said. The question seemed so utterly out of place Dilandau was taken aback by it, confused. He snapped out of it quickly, thinking.

"The seventeenth day of the third month" he said clearly, keeping his tone constant. He still hadn't got a measure of the stranger, and Dilandau was hoping it was a mutual situation. The man was not phased by the news, whatever significance it had had to him not eliciting any particular response. Silence once again held reign for a few more minutes. Dilandau was becoming impatient, and he was giving serious thought to just grabbing the stranger and getting whatever information he had out of him forcefully.

"What are you doing here?" he said, without a hint of politeness about it. He seemed to have adopted the same kind of methods Dilandau usually used, which was annoying. Still, he was the one holding the greatsword, so if it came to blows he was sure he'd win. Dilandau thought about telling him the truth for a moment, but then it occurred to him – why should he? Why wouldn't this man know, if he were down here in the first place? Dilandau took another step forward, and posed his question.

Snorri shouted up to the elves at the top of the ladder that it was safe for them to follow him down. The old rickety ladder had led down underground to this room, and it was clear to see why it was kept out of sight. Several dark splotches decorated the floor, and manacles lined the walls, rusty and covered in small dents and scratches. Somebody had wrote some demented scrawl over the wall, light scratches in the stone their last testament to whoever would follow. Snorri wasn't phased by it. He'd seen a lot worse places in his time – Drow camps filled with tortured beings, hideous catacombs of monsters best left un-named and even the darkened halls of the Druergar, the mortal enemies of his people. He could see everything clearly without light, thanks to his dwarven darkvision, and as he walked further into the room he started to see the spidery webs that coated the back wall and the offshoot to the right. The likelihood of such a monster dwelling here was high, he reminded himself, creatures of an underground nature liked dark deserted places.

The room was bathed in colour as he heard feet hitting the bottom of the shaft. Amras stepped through holding a blazing sunrod, quickly followed by Arminas. They both had their swords out, obviously expecting trouble. To be honest, Snorri couldn't blame them. Bad events had a horrible habit of repeating themselves. He tilted his head in the direction of the ragged inscription on the wall, not taking his eyes from the offshoot up ahead.

"Can either of you read that?" he asked, hating the sound of the words as they came out. His respect for the pair was growing, but asking people for help was so against the grain. Amras looked at the writing and shrugged, but Arminas seemed captivated by it, taking several steps towards it, gazing intently. Amras watched him, but Snorri was still focused on that turning to the right. He spared a brief glance as Arminas, suddenly realising they should be keeping their voices down so they didn't disturb whatever was in here.

"What is it?" he asked Arminas, who was knelt down studying the scrawly text. He stood again, turning back to face them.

"The key. It's here. At least, our mystery author thought so, anyway. It seems to cut off kind of abruptly" he said, his voice perfectly clear despite the suggested danger. Snorri sighed. He was getting a little tired of this place already. He heard Amras set his torch down and take out his bow, heard the soft flexing of the bowstring as he readied the weapon. He pointed forwards, towards the opposite corner, motioning at it with his head. Arminas nodded, moving forward as silently as he could. He was hunkered down, his knees bent, trying to stay as low as possible. Snorri moved on after him, trying and failing to move silently. His heavy boots sent muffled echoes around the room as the floor itself became thick with webs, and Snorri struggled not to trip. Amras brought up the rear, keeping his bow half-aimed at the ceiling, his eyes scanning the room.

When they reached the offshoot, Amras' jaw dropped. Arminas looked away in disgust. Snorri just stared.

Up on the roof, near the top corner, the webs seemed to amalgamate into one mass of sticky fluid, hundreds of individual shapes forming a coherent mass. The trails spun out for several feet across the walls and ceilings, and there, in the top corner of the web, was their writer.

His face was covered in small cuts, his eyes and mouth closed as if asleep. From the neck down his slim elfin body was wrapped in thick strands of web, trapping his limbs and binding him to the manic patterns. The sight made even Snorri choke back bile, trying to keep his calm. He just about managed it, but he had to turn away from the grisly sight. Amras was standing there staring at it, his face turned to a hateful scowl, tears starting to roll down one pale cheek. Snorri knew why – it was one of his own, one of his people. Snorri would have felt the same if it were a dwarf…

"Is he…is he still alive?" Arminas said, saying what they were all thinking. Snorri didn't know. Amras didn't seem to hear them. He was shaking, taking aim at the body, his hand barely holding back the flax of the bow.

"We should help him if he is" the elf said, voice wavering with fear and disgust. Arminas put a hand on his shoulder, gripping it tightly. Amras lowered his head, tears flowing freely from his eyes, pooling at his feet with the sticky mess of web.

Something moved, and Snorri was the first to hear it. A skittering, crawling noise on the roof, something moving quickly towards them. He looked up and saw the monster moving on him, fast. It stopped above him, staring down from a purple face marked with mustard yellow spots, beady insectile eyes fixed on his stricken face. It let out a low hiss that made his spine shiver, and Snorri struggled for the second time to keep his composure. The thing spoke, an evil, snake-like voice that was deformed and diabolic.

"Welcome to my parlour, said the spider to the fly" it hissed, and then it leapt off the roof, straight for Snorri.

Amras heard the haunting, hissing voice a split-second before he heard the deranged screech filling the room and his ears. Snapping back to reality instantly, he instinctively spun, dropped onto his knee and loosed an arrow at the abomination leaping to attack Snorri. The arrow found purchase in it's soft, speckled abdomen, and it was knocked out of the air by the sheer force of the shot, landing on it's back. Snorri ran back quickly, standing between the two elves, his axe already readied by his side. Amras let another arrow fly as the spider-thing flipped off it's back onto it's eight spindly legs. It's head lowered and it charged for them, hissing an inane cackle as dark watery blood trailed after it from the wound in it's abdomen.

"Some of that divine magic would be great now" Amras said as the shot went high, soaring over the low form of the spider-monster. Snorri scowled, stepping forward with Arminas, weapons raised.

The spider seemed to slow down, it's charge faltering, but it was just a feint. Rearing up, a sticky shot of web spat across the room, entangling Snorri's weapon hand with Amras' body. His axe clattered to the floor and he cursed loudly over the monsters hissing laugh. Snorri shook his hand, trying to get it free, to little avail – the web clung to him like glue. Amras likewise struggled, but he couldn't get free. The bond was far too strong.

Arminas snarled, taking quick steps forward to confront the beast, and it started to skitter back across the floor, hunkering down low and staring at him with those beady eyes. Arminas lunged forwards, slashing at it's front leg, but the blade only found hard chitin and the blow was blocked with the scrape of un-natrual armour. The spider lifted it's right front leg and stabbed at Arminas head, but he ducked down, avoiding it, the blow close enough for him to hear the displaced air rushing past his ear. His blade flashed out again, low and fast, striking the monster in the side of it's deformed face. A gash opened up and it squealed in pain, brackish blood spilling across the floor and Arminas' foot.

"Yes yes, elf!" it taunted, still cackling through the pain. "Make me feel! Death for you soon!" Arminas didn't return the parley, swinging his blade round in his hand and bringing it down over the spiders head, but it raised one of it's hind legs like a staff and parried the blow. Raising the leg farther it pushed Arminas back, who lost his balance momentarily. The spider jumped forwards, pushing him down onto his back. Arminas cried out, his already bruised back sending sharp pain over his body. The monster had him pinned down, rising up above him with it's two front chitinous legs ready to plunge into his chest. It tried to articulate a grin, and looking into those beady eyes that suddenly flashed with pure malice, Arminas saw what he was really fighting.

"Drow" he muttered, and the thing hissed that insane laugh again.

"Not anymore. Better. Faster. Die now!" it spoke in it's snake-like voice, raising a leg to pierce Arminas' heart. Arminas closed his eyes and waited for the end.

It didn't come.

For what was left of her mind, Helbron would enjoy killing the elf. She hadn't tasted elf-flesh for a long time, and the fare of humans was growing monotonous. The morsel squirmed and struggled as she let it have it's last words, raising her foreleg to make it dead. A great joy overcame her, one she had only known before when she was still a normal Drow.

The elf closed his eyes. Helbron prepared to deliver the killing blow.

A sword pierced her brain, and she died with failure as she had lived.

Amras threw his blade through the head of the beast, feeling a great weight lifted from his soul as it spasmed and died, heavy body falling end-over-head onto the floor with a heavy thud. Arminas struggled onto his side, gagging and coughing, his chain shirt covered in dark, watery blood. Amras closed his eyes, regaining himself, trying to be calm. He'd struggled with the webbing while Arminas fought the monster, and as it looked like he was doomed, a sudden thought occurred to him and he drew his sword, sending it through the ruined mind of the once-Drow.

The web, seeming to sense it's creator's demise, started to harden and break apart like crystal. The ones on the floor and the roof were doing the same, spidering cracks and lines appearing in the thickest ones as they shattered into millions of small pieces that covered the rapidly clearing floor. Slivers of the foul stuff fell into Amras' hair and he instinctively clutched at his head, getting them off his scalp. This place had crept him out enough, and he didn't want to carry anymore of it with him than he needed to. He walked over the Arminas, whose face had gone a terrible pale colour. He was still gagging and retching, clutching for his weapon to steady himself to stand.

Amras knelt down next to him, grabbing his arm and helping him up. He was still shaking, his whole body shivering from the fright of nearly being killed by something as foul as that monster. Amras gripped both his shoulders firmly, looking closely into his eyes and speaking to him softly.

"Arminas. Calm down. It's dead. Just calm down now" he said, trying to be soothing, to help Arminas shake off his fear. The half-elf stuttered, the gagging turning to spluttering coughing. His eyes closed, his composure returning, and he put his hands up and placed them on Amras' wrists, his grip amazingly strong. He opened his eyes, staring at Amras as if he'd never seen him before.

"Once again I'm indebted Amras" he said, his voice quiet despite how fiercely he gripped the elf. "Thank you."

Amras let him go and took a step back.

"There is no need for thanks…it is my charge. I am honour-bound to do this and more. You know that" Amras said to him, his gaze locked with Arminas', face set and grim. Arminas nodded, his breathing returning to normal. Snorri had appeared behind Amras, and he moved in-between the two, looking at the corpse of the monster they'd just killed. He wore a look of utter disgust and contempt, his brow furrowed in puzzlement and confusion, trying to work out exactly what it was or had once been. Giving up, he went for the obvious question.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, no hint of humour in it. Arminas answered him first.

"Drider. It's what happens to Drow who fail Lolth.. I never really believed in her – I've never really believed in Corellan either until today, but this proves it pretty conclusively."

Snorri grunted, and Amras knew Arminas could have chosen better words.

"You'd be a fool not to believe in them. The gods have more power than you can possibly imagine…it's a pity they never use it to do any good" Snorri said angrily. Arminas looked puzzled, but he decided it wise not to press the matter. Amras breathed a sigh of relief – he had no desire for either of them to attract Snorri's wrath. Looking around, Amras noticed that the body of the elf had fell to the ground since the Drider had died. A fresh wave of hatred and sorrow swept over him, and he walked over to the body, kneeling next to it. He touched the elf's face – it was deathly cold, but, feeling his arm Amras felt a pulse, however faint. He sighed sadly, lowering his head.

"Brain-dead…" he said, feeling the sadness well up inside him. To still be alive, yet only in body, so as only to provide a hot meal for some terrible abomination, it made him feel physically sick. The elf was one of his people, part of a bond that transcended culture and language, forged from blood, the strongest bond of all. Amras knew Snorri and Arminas would understand – they too would feel the same for one of their people. He regretted that the humans would never understand, but, he could do nothing about it. All he could do was help his own kin.

"What are you going to do?" Arminas asked from behind him, already knowing the answer. His voice trailed off as Amras drew his bow, picking an arrow from his quiver and pointing it straight at the elf's breast. Amras look at him, a fierce intensity in his eyes that burned deep in his soul. He looked at Snorri with those fierce eyes too, making them both seem uneasy. When he spoke, it was in a low, monotone voice that seemed totally unlike him.

"I don't know much about the gods. You can believe what you like about them, but what's stronger than your faith in your gods is your faith in your blood-brothers and sisters. People don't seem to get that" he said, anger lurking below the surface on the last sentence. Arminas opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. Snorri just looked away.

Amras released the flax, and the spiders prisoner was freed.

Nathalis watched the trio from the shadows, hearing their words as they killed the spider-monster and released the brain-dead elf. Their talk of the nature of the gods and of blood-bonds did nothing to phase him – he'd disagree with them all. Nathalis reminded himself, however, that there were more important things to be dealt with, and such musings were best left alone.

Checking the strap holding the longbow against his back, Nathalis bent his knees and leapt down from the high shadowed ledge and onto the floor. He bent as he landed, one hand spread against the floor as his body hit the flagstones. He stood to his full height, about five and a half feet, and looked at the assembled group. They looked a little shocked. The dwarf – Snorri, if memory served him properly – was snarling at him, whereas the two elves were regarding him with a bit of shock. He supposed they'd all had enough nasty surprises for one day. Time for a pleasant one then, he mused.

Reaching into one of the pouches on his cloak lining, Nathalis retrieved a large golden key. It would open the main door on the ground floor, granting the party freedom from the prison complex. If they'd got this far, they deserved it. He dropped the key onto the floor at his feet, sending a small clatter across the room. The others didn't say anything, which he was grateful for, it made things easier.

"You'll find the lever to release your friend over there, behind some loose stones" Nathalis said in his unusually flat voice, pointing to the corner where the dead elf had been suspended.

With nothing left to be said, Nathalis touched the amulet around his throat and was gone with nothing more than a haze of blue smoke.

Dilandau wasn't having much luck with the man in the cells. He'd outright refused to answer any of his questions, meeting them only with stony silence, and when Dilandau had persisted in asking him why he was here, he'd drawn a long dagger and sat there running his finger across the blade. Dilandau suspected the man would have no qualms about attacking him, which took away the only advantage he had. He wasn't liking the situation.

A deep rumbling, followed by the sound of iron scraping over stone. Dilandau turned back towards the staircase he'd came down by, wondering what the noise was. His hand found his sword hilt, but he relaxed after a few moments. The rest of them would have dealt with any danger, wouldn't they?

He heard a soft chuckle from his right. Turning his head, he saw the stranger half-grinning. Dilandau scowled. He ought to take his head off right now, but there were objectives beyond his bloodlust at stake here. Then again…

The sound of footsteps on the stairwell cut _that_ train of thought short quickly. Stepping out into the main hall (though careful not to take his eyes off the stranger in the cell), Dilandau was somewhat glad to see Snorri, Amras and Arminas come piling down the stairs. He looked at them indifferently. Snorri stepped up to him, his face full of anger. Dilandau did nothing, which seemed only to serve to incense him further.

"God-rotted idiot!" the dwarf yelled. Dilandau glazed over, ignoring him. "You could have left us for dead back there! I've never met a manling as unreliable as you." He spat, and Dilandau looked down at him.

"Finished? I really don't care, you know. You're alive, so don't complain" he said dispassionately. Snorri frowned at him, shrugged and walked back over to Arminas. Dilandau smiled internally, pleased he could divert anger away from himself that easily. Now he could have these three deal with that man in the cells, and get out of this hole at the same time. They were turning out to be pretty useful - he was considering sticking around.

Arminas walked up to him, looking like he was struggling with how to feel over the incident. Dilandau shrugged; it was all pretty simple to him. They were alive, the monsters obviously weren't, and they were all going to be a bit richer by days end. Arminas just shook his head.

"It's good you're still alive, I suppose" he said, not really meaning it but trying to. He seemed shaken by something, but Dilandau wasn't about to ask. He pointed towards the cell he'd just exited.

"There's a man in there, won't say a word. You might have more luck than what I did. Maybe he knows the way out of here." He meant the last bit; he wanted out, now. Arminas looked into the cell, then turned back to Dilandau.

"We found the way out. Another elf appeared and gave us the key after we faced down a Drow abomination. You don't care about that though, so…" Arminas paused, taking the key from his pocket and placing it roughly in Dilandau's hand. "Here. Go. We'll meet you back at where Talmanes told us to go, if you're going to show your face. Either way it won't make a difference to either of us, will it?" The annoyance in his voice was palpable. For a moment, Dilandau considered an apology but thought better of it when he realised it might set a bad precedent. He'd get them later when they'd calmed down. He strode out of the hall without another look at them, through the hall and out into the city streets beyond.

"Lucky bastards" he said aloud to himself as he walked away along Khrond's main streets. "I could have locked the door behind me."

Arminas watched Dilandau go, then decided to have a look in the cell. Before he could cross over into the door, someone was standing in the archway. In the light of the hall, he could see him better than what Dilandau had.

He was tall, about six feet, just bigger than Dilandau, but he looked a lot older. His face was weathered, like he spent a lot of time in the wild, and his clothes compounded this; a simple garb of dark green, cape, tunic shirt and trousers. He wore high, thick-soled brown leather boots, and across his back Arminas could see a bow and quiver. He seemed human.

"You've already met Dilandau" Arminas said, plunging into the conversation, desperate to leave the prison. "My name is Arminas Oran, and my companions are Snorri Gotrekson and Amras Urawaynya. We were sent here by Count Talmanes of Khrond, part of one of his schemes. We all came for our own reasons, myself…I was just tired of wandering about the city without aim, I suppose." He paused, trying to read an expression on the man's face from beneath the dark cowl. "May I ask why you are here, and your name?" Arminas kept it polite and friendly, like his father had taught him back in the courts of his city. The man seemed to ponder his question, then looked directly at him.

"I am Celsus, Arminas. I too came here from the court of the Count, with comrades of my own. Unfortunately, I am the last survivor. The hobgoblin, he captured me and locked me down here" he said, his voice betraying nothing. Arminas could tell he was gaining at least a little trust of him – he doubted Dilandau had been at all courteous with him.

"I'm sorry to hear that. We've all known the pain of friends passing to the next life. Fortunately, the monster you speak of is dead, along with the rest of his kind. I only hope this brings you some comfort."

"Indeed. I am thankful that I have survived, and it is good to see that someone has conquered the madness of this place."

The conversation stopped there, neither man really knowing what to say next. Arminas had meant what he said, he did know that pain, but whether Celsus had seen him as sincere he didn't know. Arminas spoke again first.

"Will you come with us, Celsus? We're going back to the city, and I'd be grateful if you come with us. It seems you need some strong words with Talmanes, and we'll be glad to go with you to him" Arminas said, again, totally meaning it - though the subjects discussed may be very different from the ones he wanted to speak with Talmanes about. Celsus again seemed to ponder the question, finally taking his cowl down, revealing a hardened face topped with thick dark hair. He took Arminas' hand, shaking it firmly.

"I shall, Arminas. Though before we make plans, let us leave quickly" he said, a half-smile coming to his lips. Arminas nodded, turning to face Snorri and Amras.

"Let's go" he said "We've got an appointment with the Count." Snorri and Amras nodded in agreement, moving quickly out of the hall, which would forever remain silent.

Talmanes was just sitting down to go over some documents from his mercantile business' chief scribe when there was a sharp, urgent knock at the door. He urged the servant come in, and the double doors creaked open, a well-dressed and well-groomed steward sticking his head around the door, looking a little panicked.

"Yes?" Talmanes said, not looking up from his work.

"There's some men here to see you sir. They look a little…ah, rough" the steward babbled, obviously wanting to get as far away from the aforementioned men as soon as possible. Talmanes looked up at him through his spectacles, keeping his face neutral.

"Send them in. Thank you" he said, and the steward nodded, disappearing behind the door. It opened again a few minutes later, and five men walked in. Well, males, anyway. There as an elf dressed in simple hunter-esque clothing, a man dressed similarly but much taller, another of elfin blood outfitted in good-quality chainmail and a red tunic, a stocky dwarf and a young man dressed in dark clothes and armour. A very disorganized bunch, yes, but very good at what they did if Talmanes believed Nathalis' account of the day. And with Nathalis, Talmanes had come to believe what he was told.

"Welcome back to Khrond, gentlemen. I'm glad to see you made it back, I'm sure it was very hard for you in there. And…Celsus? I thought you perished on a previous foray into the complex. It is good to know you're still alive" he said, trying to keep his tone impartial without sounding patronising or condescending, but he knew what they must have been through – emotions would be running at fever pitch, and that could turn to anger. He wasn't afraid of the group, he just despised having to hurt good men. There was an uneasy silence for a while, then the half-elf in the red tunic stepped forward. He had a gait about him that suggested he was used to meetings like this, or at least instructed in how to deal with them.

"Count Talmanes, we had a deal. We completed your challenge, and now I must ask for that which we are due. Though no wordly riches can do justice to what myself and my friends have endured – especially Celsus – we would not want to have suffered for nought" he said, very calm and composed, but Talmanes could tell there was some bitterness lurking in him.

"Yes, of course. You shall receive extra, considering…" He was going to comment on the unusual circumstances, but before he could finish Celsus broke in, his anger spilling out into verbal form.

"Extra? I do not wish more of your treasures, Count, nor would my dead comrades. It could not help them now, not ever. They're dead, as dead as your sense of compassion for others. You sicken me" he shouted, his face going red as his blood boiled beneath his skin. He was pointing accusingly at Talmanes, and although the Count could have him executed for such a display, he tried to show some understanding.

"I'm sorry I offended you, Celsus. I merely wanted to try and compensate you, and you alone, for surviving. I know it must have been hard for you, but you are alive, and in these men you have comrades who will stand with you as well as your former friends did. If I could have them brought back from the afterlife, you would have but to ask, but my influence is not as such that I can promise you that. I am sorry" Talmanes said, trying his best to sound apologetic and reassuring. Celsus seemed to calm down a little, stepping back next to the elf, breath measured and slow. Talmanes turned back to Arminas.

"I hate to ask this, but you must understand we live in troubled times. I wish to offer you employment, to…" Once again, he was interrupted.

"To do your dirty work, that's what you want" Snorri said, scowling. Talmanes showed the flash of a grin, liking the dwarves ability to speak his mind. Although his field didn't call for it, he respected those who could use it to good effect.

"Precisely. You are most perceptive, Snorri. Well, what say you? All of you, the offer is there, you need not accept it, but I can promise you a purpose for the duration of your stay here, as well as supplying your trivial needs" he finished, finding himself standing at his desk, arms outspread. He hoped they would all agree, but in these times he would take what he could get. One by one he looked at them all as they exchanged glances and hushed words amongst each other. Eventually, Arminas once again stepped forward, nodding.

"I shall, and my companions agree to your offer. If good men were to do nothing, that would be evil enough, and we are good men…most of us, anyway" he said, looking at Dilandau on his last words. Talmanes nodded happily.

"You are free to terminate this agreement at any time, and you shall suffer no consequences. There is a great deal of corruption and evil in this city, as you have seen, and without men like you all I cannot hope to root it out. I am indebted to you all." Talmanes sat down again, folding his arms across the darkwood desk.

"The steward outside will lead you to a coach which will take you to your lodgings, and give you your payment. I shall contact you in due time." They made to leave, talking amongst themselves in quiet voices as they left. Arminas seemed to linger, staring out one of the huge wall windows. Talmanes looked at him inquisitively.

"Is there something else, Arminas?" he said, quite concerned. He needed his soldiers in top condition for the tasks ahead.

"The emerald keeper, Count. He's an elf, and it's obvious you employ him. It's quite rare to see my people in these lands…which you should know." Arminas said, not looking away from the ocean.

"Nathalis is one of your people, yes, but you don't have to worry about him for the time being." He paused, looking at Arminas standing perfectly still by the window. "Was there something else?"

Arminas took a few minutes to reply, just shaking his head indifferently. Talmanes didn't press the matter – the elf seemed to be under some considerable strain, as much as he tried to hide it. Talmanes had spent most of his life reading peoples actions and emotions, there wasn't much that could get past him now. Arminas stalked out of the room silently, shutting the doors behind him quietly.

For several hours afterwards, Talmanes just sat at his desk, staring towards the horizon, pondering the days events.

19


End file.
